Bother
by The Marked Lady
Summary: After the Last Battle, Harry Potter sinks into a depression. Through this depression, he stumbles onto an idea. This idea grows into a mass of ideas that not only digs Harry out of depression, but also may give him happiness.
1. Chapter 1: Drink Up Me Hearties

Disclaimer: I own neither the world created by J.K.R., nor the lyrics by Coldplay.

_Bother_

_Chapter One: Drink Up Me Hearties_

* * *

_A warning sign  
I missed the good part, then I realized  
I started looking and the bubble burst  
I started looking for excuses _

_

* * *

_

Harry Potter pulled out his wand and prepared to apparate into his flat. He sighed heavily…starting up a business wasn't as easy as he had thought it would be. When he was in Hogwarts, Fred and George made it look like the simplest thing since self-stirring potions.

Harry smiled briefly to himself. Hogwarts…had it really been two whole years? Hogwarts was his first home and it was where he had so many other firsts. First friends, first love, and the first time he met his godfather, Sirius, just to name a few. Thinking back on it, it seemed like just yesterday it had been Dumbledore's funeral. It seemed like just yesterday he had dedicated himself to finding and defeating Voldemort.

Voldemort…it had been a year since his demise. Sadly, Voldemort killed a great deal of Muggles and wizards alike in the two years he was loose on the world. Not even the Aurors could delay him or his followers.

Auror…it used to be Harry's dream profession. In fact, ten months ago he began training to become an Auror. It was grand…at first. Then, just one month after he began training, Harry lost all ambition for the profession. Becoming an Auror certainly lost its appeal in a hurry.

As his ambition for what he used to yearn to do disappeared, so did his ambition to live. Day after day, night after night, he drank.

* * *

Harry greedily clutched the bottle of firewhiskey. Holding it up to his lips, and poured the entirety of the fiery liquid down his throat. It was only his first bottle of the night. That one bottle had the power to make him sufficiently smashed, yet he continued drinking. 

Midway through his second bottle, he mumbled to the wall of his flat, "You know, I've never met a witchy likes a you befo'e…how's abou' you come back to my place and," he swigged another drink, "we'll—" With that remark Harry fell over.

* * *

After Harry quit Auror training, he had to decide what in the bloody hell he wanted to do with the rest of his life. Suddenly, the Weasley twins popped into his head. They owned a shop, why couldn't Harry? 

But, what exactly would Harry sell in a shop? Naught that he could think of. Then it hit him. _Don't buy a shop...buy a pub. _His reasons for owning a pub were simple…firewhiskey had been a dear, dear friend in the months following his victory over Voldemort.

However, firewhiskey slowly began to lose its effectiveness. Harry had to drink more, and more, and more. Regrettably, a day came when Harry was done to his last bottle of firewhiskey and could not go to fetch more. He had to resort to some Muggle forms of alcohol, vodka and gin.

Grabbing four bottles of vodka and three of gin from his store cupboard, he returned to his living room. He waved the cork out of the vodka bottle with a flick of the wand and took a swig. Immediately after tasting its bitterness, he spat it out and gagged.

Harry looked miserably at the four bottles of vodka, and decided not to let it go to waste. He found an empty bottle, grabbed the bottle of vodka he had previously opened, and an unopened bottle of gin. Harry set all three on the counter, and began mixing and matching until the empty bottle he started with was full to the brim.

He shrugged to himself, "Here goes nothing," and took a swig. Seconds later, he spat that out, too.

"More gin," he mumbled. He started over again with a fresh bottle, this time using large amounts of gin. Once finished, he again tasted it and again got dismal results. Again, and again, and again he started anew.

Until finally, on the seventh try, he came up with a drink that was more than tolerable...it was, splendid. Upon the initial drink, the taste exploded on one's tongue like a fireball, yet by the second drink, it was quite refreshing.

Harry kept drinking and smiling to himself. Finally, with only one fourth of the bottle left, he drunkenly mumbled, "My, my, what a fiery little fireball you are. My little firebally ball." He hiccupped. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he fell over.

When Harry awoke the next day, he surprisingly recalled how he got the drink, and promptly wrote it down. A name for it was etched upon his mind, though he could not rightly recall why.

He named it Fireball.

One bottle of this super drink could make the average wizard drunker than the bums wandering the London streets clutching their precious ale.

Harry had the idea for a drink that would hook many a witch and wizard. All he needed was the premises and the name.

Harry poured himself a strong cup of tea. He was in dire need of consciousness and of a location for his pub. Thus, the newspaper he once hated, _The Daily Prophet_, was spread in front of him.

**The Daily Prophet**

**The Classifieds**

**FOR SALE: **Old-fashioned two-story building of grand wizarding heritage in Hogsmeade. Formerly the home of a reputable man, abandoned for unknown reasons. For more information, Owl Belinda Avery.

_Too questionable of a history. Wouldn't want to go down into the cellar to bring up more bottles and find a detached head or something of the sort._

**FOR SALE: **Clean-cut Muggle-friendly building in Ottery St. Catchpole, located next to a branch of _Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes_. For more information, Owl Arthur Weasley.

_Nope, no, definitely not. It wouldn't do to move so close to the Weasleys after…at any rate, must plow on. _

**FOR SALE: **Two-story building located in between _Flourish and Blotts _and _Eeylops Owl Emporium_. For more information, Owl Hugh Looms.

After that ad, Harry knew he had found the perfect location. He sat down immediately with a piece of parchment and a quill. Thinking for a minute, he set the quill point to the paper and began:

Dear Mr. Looms,

I am interested in purchasing the building you are selling in Diagon Alley. I would like to request an appointment to view the building and discuss the price.

Sincerely yours,

Harry J. Potter

_There, that should do it._ With that thought, he sealed the letter and sent it off with his ever-faithful owl, Hedwig.

Harry expected an owl back within a day or two. To his surprise, this Hugh Looms character didn't reply for well over a week. When the reply finally came, it impolitely stated:

Potter--

Received your post, come Wednesday the 7th at precisely 2:23. Do not be late.

--Looms

Harry looked quizzically at the brief note. Wednesday the 7th? That was today. He looked at his wristwatch and saw to his utter displeasure that the time was quickly approaching 2:11. Harry uttered a string of curse words and apparated to _The Leaky Cauldron_.

* * *

Harry caught his first glance at the potential location for his pub at precisely 2:17 p.m. and stood shocked for a moment. His gaze went from the crows' nest perched on top of the stoop to the rusty railing…from the rusty railing to dusty windows…from the dusty windows to the bricks that had fallen off of the building. 

He was so caught up in his gawking that he didn't notice the appearance a smartly dressed middle-aged man. The man noticed Harry and walked over to the much younger man to tap him on the shoulder.

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin and turned to the man who had tapped him. As soon as Harry gathered his bearings, he quietly offered, "Er, hi? I'm Harry Potter. Would you happen to be Mr. Looms?"

The middle-aged man cackled, "Aha ha ha, I certainly would be he, Potter. Now step this way and I'll give you a brief tour of this exquisite building."

Hugh Looms walked through the old door into the decrepit building, leaving Harry to stare after Looms as if the man had lost his sanity. Looms must have realized Harry wasn't following him, and retreated. "Come on boy, I don't have all bloody day."

Harry nodded mutely and followed the eccentric man into the building.

"Now as you can see," Looms boasted when Harry entered the building, "this is a classy building. I'm not selling it to you if you plan to devalue it with filth."

"I certainly will not," quickly butted in Harry.

"Right, right, now this here is the main room. Its former use was a ballroom dancing studio."

Harry nodded slowly and Looms continued.

"Behind that counter yonder is the trap door into the cellar, but we don't have time to take a look at that now."

Harry looked quizzically at the man, but Mr. Looms missed it.

"Right," Looms continued. "That's about it. I'm a very busy wizard, so what do you say?"

"What do I say about what?"

"The building! Surely you have an offer in mind."

"Er, what were you asking for it?"

"I won't take a knut under 1,100 galleons."

Harry did the math. His Gringotts account at the moment held 2,000 galleons and an assortment of sickles and knuts. That would leave him little more than 900 galleons not only to fix up the place, which he figured would alone take around 500 galleons, but he still had a very expensive rent to pay on his flat, 100 galleons a month, and he thought it would take at least six months to fix up this place.

Harry smoothly said, "I was thinking more along the lines of, say, 700."

"You drive a hard bargain, Potter. How about 1,000."

"750."

"900."

"800," insisted Harry.

"875."

"800."

"850."

"800."

"825, and I won't go a knut less," Looms harshly countered.

"You've got yourself a deal, sir," Harry smiled.

Looms pulled some papers out of his briefcase. Spreading them across an old table and withdrew a quill, "Sign here, here, and here."

Harry quickly signed, shook the man's hand and looked around the ancient building he had just purchased.

Harry had a name stuck in his mind from the moment he decided to start up a pub. He wished to call it _The Drizzling Draft_. The name seemed to reflect his mood, and yet it was oddly comforting as well.

Yet, the name alone could not comfort Harry those long lonely nights, on which the past haunted his dreams.

* * *

Author's Note: You took the time to read this. I must admit, I'm pleased. However, I'd be ecstatic if you reviewed. 


	2. Chapter 2: Inescapable

Disclaimer: The characters and setting belong to JKR, and the lyrics, Coldplay.

_Chapter Two: Inescapable_

* * *

_Come on in  
I've gotta tell you what I state I'm in  
I've gotta tell you in my loudest tones  
That I started looking for a warning sign_

* * *

After Harry had purchased the premises for his pub, it took him a few days to process all the work he would have to put in it. He had very few resources. The only people he knew who actually owned a business were Fred and George Weasley, and he couldn't go to them.

The first day actually beginning work had been the worst.

Harry sat at a makeshift desk in the room that he intended to be his office. Order sheets from the Wizarding Builders United lay in front of him. Lumber lay untouched in piles on the floor. Lazy WBU wizards sat around doing nothing particularly productive, but getting paid nonetheless.

The WBU was a well-known organization that professionally charmed objects out of thin air, such as coffee tables and dinettes.

Harry stared at the shipment statement from the company. He angrily told the stubborn WBU wizards and witches, "No, I did not order the maple dining tables. I ordered the oak tables with 2-4 chairs each. It says clearly right here."

"Ok," cheeked an obnoxious WBU 'foreman,' "You're the boss."

Harry glared at the man's backside. _What a squib._ He sighed at the lack of wit the WBU possessed. The annoyed young man whipped out his wand, and a durable bar appeared along the main of the building.

"Not bad for a beginner," mumbled Harry. He glanced around all of the building. _Now where did that countertop go_? Harry recalled seeing it before, but now he couldn't find it.

He called the foreman to him. "You, have you seen the countertop I ordered?"

"Countertop?" dumbly replied the foreman, "I haven't seen no countertop. You must not have ordered one."

"Like hell I didn't," snapped Harry. "It says right here on the order form. 'Marble counter top, quantity one.' Now, where the bloody hell is it?"

"Ah," the dimwitted man scratched his head, "over there."

Harry sighed in relief as he saw his counter. "Thank you."

Harry's month spent with the WBU had been the worst month he had ever endured. The workers were dull-witted and slow. Harry ended up doing most of the work himself.

Now finally, three months after he initially purchased it, the pub was nearing completion.Things were coming together, and not a moment too soon. The Grand Opening was set for October 15, and today was already October 1.

Harry poured himself another cup of strong tea. Today he had cleaned the cellar. It desperately needed the cleaning, as it looked as though it had not been cleaned in ten years. And it probably hadn't. Huge dust piles were everywhere, along with some dodgy-looking cauldrons and what appeared to be a severed finger, among many other things. It had indeed been yet another long difficult day.

Just this morning, the mugs had arrived. Each mug depicted the logo 'The Drizzling Draft est. 1999' with a raindrop background. Harry designed the logo himself. The same logo would be on the sign, due to arrive within three days.

Harry's crates of firewhiskey, vodka, and gin were due to arrive tomorrow, along with the brewer he purchased. Harry would be all set to make Fireball, which he had gotten a wizarding patent for the previous day.

He wasn't going to sell _just _Fireball in his pub, no sir. Harry would have good old-fashioned firewhiskey along with a number of ales, due to arrive next week. For food, Harry planned to sell an assortment of sandwiches, including roast beef and roast chicken.

Harry hired a young couple, fresh out of Hogwarts to assist him each night in the pub, Damian and Amelia Pelhelm. The day after they finished at Hogwarts, they got married. This marriage angered their families. Amelia was a pureblood witch, and Damian was muggle-born. The pureblood parents hated Damian's bloodline, and the muggle parents thought Amelia a tramp. With no money and nowhere else to turn, they found the ad in _The Daily Prophet_ for _The_ _Drizzling Draft_.

They started work almost immediately after Harry hired them. He felt sorry for the pair…young and in love, but dreadfully poor. In a way they reminded Harry of what he oh-so-briefly had. Indeed, it made him think of _her_ more.

Harry struggled with this preoccupation with her as he attempted to put things in order, even the simplest task. It had taken much scrutiny before he decided the hours. He planned Sunday thru Thursday hours to be 4:00 to 10:00 pm, whereas Friday and Saturday the hours would be 3:00 to 11:00 pm. In two short weeks, _The Drizzling Draft_ would be open for business.

* * *

Friday October 15, 1999. The day had finally arrived. Tonight would be the Grand Opening of _The Drizzling Draft_.

Despite the fact that he was at the building cleaning and organizing things until well past 2:00 am the night before, Harry awoke anxiously at 7:00 am. Giddy in anticipation, Harry wolfed down a quick breakfast of toast with marmalade. By 8:00, he was at the pub, preparing.

He organized and reorganized nearly everything. Harry checked and double-checked the Fireball brewery. He washed the tables, he mopped the floor, and he even scrubbed the toilets in the loos. In fact, in his state, he was halfway done scrubbing the toilets before he remembered he could do them by magic.

Then it was time for a quick lunch of a roast beef sandwich which, Harry had to admit, was quite tasty. After scarfing it down, it was back to his frantic cleaning.

By the time Amelia and Damian arrived at 2:00, the mugs had been washed and everything was spotless. With naught left to do, the trio set to work whipping sandwiches together with their wands.

After a long silence, Amelia ventured, "Um, Mr. Potter? Could we, uh, possibly turn on the radio? It's just that this silence is, er—"

"Driving us mad," chipped in Damian.

Harry came out of his daze for a moment. "Oh, sure, it's over there," he pointed to the large radio positioned on the corner.

Damian strode over to it and tuned it into the ever-popular WWN, the Wizarding Wireless Network.

Time passed by much more quickly with music playing. Before he knew it, 3:00 had arrived and Harry was unlocking the doors.

He paused a moment to admire the lovely logo painted on the window of the door and wished he had remembered to clean it as well.

Harry sighed and flicked his wand. The glass instantly shone. He smiled. _The Drizzling Draft_ was open for business.

* * *

Harry mingled among his happy customers as Amelia and Damian mixed drinks and served sandwiches. He felt relief as one by one he met with customers he neither knew nor that recognized him. Harry laughed at a joke about a Muggle and a parsnip, when a shout from across the pub drew his gaze.

"Oy, Harry!"

Harry turned, a smile on his face, to see Fred Weasley sitting at a table on the far side of the pub. The smile was instantly gone. Fred would certainly tell the rest of the Weasleys that Harry was here. They would come. He'd have to face up to…_them_.

Harry rearranged his face into what he hoped was a happy expression, though he feared it wasn't. He walked briskly towards the stocky redhead.

Fred smiled, "How've you been, mate?"

"Er, all right," Harry answered, "and yourself?"

"Superb, mate, superb," boasted Fred, "business is booming."

"So I've heard."

"Ah, so you have been in the area, have you? What have you been doing?"

"Actually, I own this pub. I've spent the last three, four months putting everything in order."

"So you've been here quite some time?"

Harry swallowed. "I, uh, I never left."

Fred gave Harry a piercing look, "You never left?"

"No, I never left."

"Ginny told me."

"Ginny told you what?" questioned Harry, fearing the worst.

"She told me about the promise you made to her." Fred quietly confirmed Harry's fear.

Harry shrugged, "Circumstances changed. I couldn't make good on that promise. I just couldn't, and can't, do it."

"Why not?"

Harry blinked. "I just can't, not after what happened."

"We don't blame you for it. No one does."

"You're wrong. I blame myself." Harry gazed off past Fred's shoulder. "Ah, is that Isaac Holl of _The Daily Prophet_ over there? I'd best go catch a word with him. Get word of this pub on the street, you know."

"Sure," icily replied Fred.

"Listen, Fred. You've got to keep it to yourself about me being here. I mean, I'll always care for Ginny, but I can't see them right now."

"I see, but you're a right dolt, you know that?" declared Fred as he stood up and left _The Drizzling Draft_.

Harry sighed and went to talk to _The_ _Daily Prophet_ reporter about mentioning the pub, but not him, in tomorrow's edition.

Nearly as fast as opening came, closing arrived. Harry and his two employees speedily cleaned up. Within the hour, he returned to his flat. Harry stared at its blank dreary walls as he felt loneliness overwhelm him.


	3. Chapter 3: Memories

Disclaimer: I do not own so much as a single hair on Harry Potter's messy head. The first flashback in this chapter belongs COMPLETELY to dear J. K. Rowling. It is from book six, and I credit it as such.

* * *

_Chapter Three: Memories_

* * *

_When the truth is I miss you  
Yeah the truth is that I miss you so_

* * *

Harry returned to his flat at 12:00 midnight. He was exhausted, but the pub had been a success. Harry should have felt happy, giddy even. But he wasn't. All that was on his mind was Fred's last words to him.

_You're a right dolt, you know that?_

It sounded in his mind since Fred left _The Drizzling Draft_. Though he would not admit it to Fred, he missed her. He missed Ginny. He missed the few weeks they spent together during his sixth year. That time came all too abruptly to an end.

_Harry looked at Ginny, Ron, and Hermione: Ron's face was screwed up as though the sunlight were blinding him. Hermione's face was glazed with tears, but Ginny was no longer crying. She met Harry's gaze with the same hard, blazing look that he had seen when she had hugged him after wining the Quidditch Cup in his absence, and he knew that at that moment they understood each other perfectly, and that when he told he what he was going to do now, she would not say, "Be careful," or "Don't do it," but accept his decision, because she would not have expected anything less of him. And so he steeled himself to say what he had known he must say ever since Dumbledore had died._

_"Ginny, listen…" he said very quietly, as the buzz of conversation grew louder around them and people began to get to their feet, "I can't be involved with you anymore. We've go to stop seeing each other. We can't be together."_

_She said, with an oddly twisted smile, "It's for some stupid, noble reason, isn't it?"_

_"It's been like…like something out of someone else's life these last few weeks with you," said Harry. "But I can't…we can't…I've got things to do alone now."_

_She did not cry, she simply looked at him._

_"Voldemort uses people his enemies are close to. He's already used you as bait once, and that was just because you're my best friend's sister. Think how much danger you'll be in if we keep this up. He'll know, he'll find out. He'll try and get to me through you."_

_"What if I don't care," said Ginny fiercely._

_"I care," said Harry. "How do you think I'd feel if this was your funeral…and it was my fault…."_

_She looked away from him, over the lake._

_"I never really gave up on you," she said. "Not really. I always hoped…. Hermione told me to go on with life, maybe go out with some other people, relax a bit around you, because I never used to be able to talk if you were in the room remember? And she thought you might take a bit more notice if I was a bit more—myself."_

_"Smart girl, that Hermione," said Harry, trying to smile. "I just wish I'd asked you sooner. We could've had ages…months…years maybe…."_

_"But you've been too busy saving the Wizarding world," said Ginny, half laughing. "Well…I can't say I'm surprised. I knew this would happen in the end. I knew you wouldn't be happy unless you were hunting Voldemort. Maybe that's why I like you so much."_

_Harry could not bear to hear these things, nor did he think his resolution would hold if he remained sitting beside her. Ron, he saw, was now holding Hermione and stroking her hair while she sobbed into his shoulder, tears dripping from the end of his own long nose. With a miserable gesture, Harry got up, turned his back on Ginny and on Dumbledore's tomb, and walked away around the lake. Moving felt much more bearable than sitting still, just as setting out as soon as possible to track down the Horcruxes and kill Voldemort would feel better than waiting to do it…._

Ending things with Ginny had been an extraordinarily difficult thing to do. Just being in her presence made him want to take back that moment. Or at least keep the promise he made to her before _it_ happened. Fred was right. Harry _was_ a right dolt.

_Bill and Fleur danced cheerily around the heavily protected yard. Five protection charms had been put on the Weasley yard in order to ensure that Bill and Fleur could have a normal wedding. _

_Ron and Hermione awkwardly danced among the many couples. How Ron had plucked up the courage to ask Hermione to dance, Harry would never know._

_As for Harry and Ginny…they eyed each other from across the room. Harry nervously shifted in his chair, sneaking glances at Ginny while conversing Percy Weasley._

_"The Ministry is going to catch You-Know-Who. It's a matter of months, days really. When we do, to Azkaban he goes," pompously boasted Percy._

_Harry thought to himself. _Yeah the Ministry will catch Voldemort. The same day that Uncle Vernon becomes Minister of Magic.

_To Percy, he nodded along, "Yeah, Voldemort will surely be caught soon."_

By me, not the Ministry.

_In these moments of conversation with Percy, Ginny came up behind Percy and pushed him aside. "Out of the way, Perce. Harry doesn't want to hear about the Ministry. Do you Harry?" asked Ginny with a slight smile on her face._

_"Er…the Ministry is rather, er, grand and uh…" trailed off Harry._

_"Besides Perce, Penelope wants a dance. You don't want her to become angry do you?"_

_A flush rose in Percy's face, "Certainly not. Coming Penny!"_

_Ginny smirked as her brother ran off to dance with his longtime girlfriend, Penelope Clearwater. Ginny turned her attention back to Harry, "Fancy a dance?"_

_Harry nervously looked at Ginny and gulped, "Why not?"_

_Ginny smiled and wordlessly grabbed his hand and led him to the middle of the dark yard. She placed her milky white arms around his neck as he awkwardly circled his slightly tanner ones around her waist._

_A slow, popular song sung by the Weird Sisters came on. Harry and Ginny swayed to the slow, steady beat of the music, inching closer and closer by the second. Harry soon found himself strangely, yet comfortably, close to Ginny. His lips, mere centimeters away from hers._

_Slowly, their lips came together. They touched for a brief moment, and then Harry pulled back. He looked into Ginny's brown eyes in wonder. Her eyes danced coyly, and she pushed her lips back up against his._

_This time he didn't pull away. He allowed himself to do what any other 16-year-old male would have done._

_He snogged the hell out of her._

For a few brief days at The Burrow, Harry allowed himself to think that maybe Voldemort wouldn't take her. Maybe he wouldn't come for her. Then the _Prophet_ three days after the wedding changed his mind.

**None Are Safe**

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has done the seemingly impossible. He has taken the Minister of Magic himself. The Minister was reported missing yesterday evening at approximately 6:00. Mere hours later, we received an Owl carrying a letter and pictures confirming the worst. Voldemort did indeed take the Minister of Magic.

The Minister of Magic was heavily guarded everywhere he went. If he couldn't be kept safe, then none can.

_Harry gulped. If the Minister of Magic, who was guarded by a team of no less than ten highly trained Aurors at all times, could be taken, then what would stop them from taking Ginny, who at most was guarded by one or two of her brothers. Harry knew that he would have to go back to his former resolution._

_The next night, out in the garden, he bid Ginny his final goodbye._

_"Gin, there's something I've got to tell you," began Harry._

_"I know what you're going to say," determinedly replied Ginny._

_"No, not entirely. Ginny, I never thought it possible for this to happen. I love you, Ginny. I wish we could be together, but I can't risk your life for it. I just can't."_

_"I love you too, Harry." Ginny looked down. "But what if _I _don't want you to die because of that no good bastard. I know you're going after him tonight Harry. Don't forget, I am Fred and George Weasley's sister."_

_Harry chuckled briefly. "This is something I have to do, Ginny. I can't just sit here and wait for him to come kill me."_

_"How do you know he'll come after you?"_

_"He's been after me since the day I was born. Staying idly here would just put it off longer."_

_Ginny gulped, resolved, "Right. But can't I come with you?"_

_Harry closed his eyes and then looked deep into hers. He honestly whispered, "I would love for you to come with us, but the fact remains that you could die or be grievously injured. It would kill me to see you hurt."_

_Ginny nodded, reluctantly, as a lone tear made its sorrowful way down her face. Her watery eyes gazed into Harry's determined ones. _

_"Ginny, I promise you that if I survive this thing, I will come back for you," earnestly insisted Harry._

_"You promise?"_

_"With my whole heart."_

_She leaned up and gave him a quick kiss. "Goodbye Harry," she said. Then with one final glance, she went into The Burrow. _

Harry was relieved after the Last Battle to discover that Ginny was still safe…distraught, but safe.

_Members of the Order of the Phoenix dueled the Death Eaters. Ron battled with Bellatrix Lestrange as Hermione took on Lucius Malfoy. Both were putting up a good fight, but were tiring of battle._

_As for Harry, he was making his way through the crowd around him. He could see Voldemort laughing shrilly in the heart of the battle. On occasion, Voldemort lazily uttered the most unforgivable of all curses as though he were bored. _

_On the contrary, Voldemort was keeping a lookout for Harry. The red slits he had for eyes spotted Harry. Harry locked eyes with his nemesis and fought his way through the crowd. _

_"It finally comes to this, Harry Potter," anxiously said Voldemort, "You're yet a mere boy, and I, the most powerful wizard of all."_

_"No need to brag, _Tom." _Harry smarted off. "Your reign of terror may very well end with this night."_

_"Wishful thinking, Harry," Annoyed, Voldemort continued. "Once again, time to observe the niceties of battle. Bow, Harry."_

_Harry raised his eyebrows. "Only if you do first."_

_If possible, Voldemort's red slits of eyes narrowed at Harry. With a challenging look, Voldemort raised his wand. "_Crucio_."_

_Harry felt the piercing sensations of the Cruciatus curse and screamed. He fell down, twitching on the ground. Though in great agony, Harry couldn't help but notice the familiar haunting laugh of Voldemort._

_After what seemed like ages, Voldemort relented. "Had enough Harry?"_

_"Let's get to the point already Tom. You want to kill me and I, you. Because of you and that witless Pettigrew, I never met my parents. I had to go live with my vile Muggle relatives. And those were my only years free of your pursuit. Nearly every year since I went to Hogwarts you tried to kill me and failed. Now tonight, you will try again for the last time. You might succeed. But if you do, I will try damn hard in the process to stop you. Now, fight like a real wizard."_

_Harry raised his wand, "_Impedimenta_."_

_Instantly, Voldemort's motions slowed down. His wand was rising slightly as his lips barely moved. A fury appeared in Voldemort's eyes as he shook off the spell._

_"Nice try, Harry, but those _childish _spells won't work on me. _Cupio_."_

_A large gash ripped its way across Harry's chest. His left hand flung to his chest and blood seeped over it. Harry looked up from is blood to Voldemort and raised his wand, "_Finite Horcri_."_

_Voldemort gasped. His body as he had known it collapsed. In its place, came the body of an old Tom Riddle. _

_"Foolish boy. Your spell may have robbed me of my normal body, but as I proved long ago, this one was fit for murders. _Avada Kedavra_!"_

_Harry saw a jet of green light shooting out of the shadow of Voldemort's wand; yet, it did not hit him. Harry moved out of the way just in time. The unforgivable spell hit not Harry, but Harry's best mate of seven years._

_Ron Weasley fell to the ground as Harry looked on, horrorstruck. Harry closed his eyes and turned his attention back towards Voldemort. With one final lift of the arm, Harry shouted "_Expletio Animus_!"_

_The body of Tom Riddle blew up into a puff of smoke and knocked all down that surrounded him. Harry rose slowly, made sure Voldemort was indeed gone, and then went over to Ron's fallen body._

_Tears streamed down Harry's face as he looked at his best mate. A look of horror mixed with surprise was on Ron's face as his blank, lifeless eyes stared out. Hermione held Ron, almost disbelievingly in her arms. She uttered not a word. All she could do was stare at Ron._

_Harry stretched a comforting arm around her shoulder as she began to sob. _

He couldn't go back to the Weasleys after he had failed saving their youngest son. The curse went straight passed him, to Ron. Harry would never forget the look on Ron's face as the curse hit him, nor would he forget the look on Hermione's face as she watched her fiancé fall. His death had been only hours after their engagement.

_Harry sat slumped against the wall. He muttered the incantation to destroy Voldemort over and over again. Finite Horcri, Finite Horcri. The incantation was an invention of Harry's. He deemed it the only way to rid the world of Voldemort in a more honorable way than Avada Kedavra._

_His muttering was interrupted by another voice._

_"Hermione, I love you. You know that. You've probably known it longer than I have, you being so bloody brilliant and all—"_

_"Oh, Ron! I love you, too."_

_"Hush up a moment. Golly. What I was trying to say was, will you marry me? We might not survive this, but I'll try damn harder to if I know you will."_

_"Of course, Ron."_

_"Brill—"_

_Ron's words were cut off by what sounded to Harry like a serious snog. Harry uncomfortably looked away. He should not have witnessed that moment…._

After that bloody battle, in both senses of the word, Hermione had a last talk with Harry.

_"Hermione, wait!" panted Harry as he dashed toward the bushy-haired witch. Hermione stood, gathering all of her possessions about her. She lowered her wand as Harry approached. _

_Traces of tears were on Hermione's cheeks. She blinked back more, sniffed, and said, "Yes, Harry?"_

_"Hermione, why are you doing this? Why are you leaving?" _

_"I just have to. Fleur has some connections to the Ministry of Magic in France. She got me a job. I only hope my French is good enough. I'll be there for quite some time," Hermione paused, "I can't bear to be here. I can't stand to be around all of the Weasleys when all it does is remind me of…of Ron." Hermione burst into tears._

_Harry gulped back his own tears. "I guess this is goodbye then."_

_Hermione smiled very briefly and rolled her eyes, "Harry, goodbye is for people who shan't ever see one another again. This is more like…see you 'round."_

_"Right then," said Harry as he pulled Hermione into a big hug. "See you 'round."_

_"And you as well, Harry. Take care."_

_With those last parting words, Hermione raised her wand and Disapparated._

* * *


	4. Chapter 4: Unexpected

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe, nor the song lyrics. They belong to J.K. Rowling and Coldplay respectively.

_Chapter Four: Unexpected_

* * *

_A warning sign  
You came back to haunt me and I realized  
That you were an island and I passed you by  
You were an island to discover_

* * *

Nearly two weeks had passed since the Grand Opening of _The_ _Drizzling Draft_. Things were going better than Harry could have hoped for; business was grand. The only thing Harry felt missing was in the void in his heart.

Despite these dreams, Harry found it inside of him to work with a wide smile on his face. He chatted warmly with the customers and joked around during cleanup with Damian and Amelia.

One average day, Harry was talking kindly with one of his few regulars, Mr. Zorpe. He didn't notice the entrance of a young woman.

She looked cautiously around the pub, as though in search of something. She looked from the quaint tables to the lavatories before finally settling her gaze on the bar.

Having spotted the reason for her presence at the pub, she slowly made her way up to the bar.

"Harry," whispered the young woman on bated breath.

Harry turned at the sound of his name. When he saw the familiar redhead, who had been constantly haunting his dreams, standing before him he blinked in disbelief. "Ginny?"

She smiled slightly. "It's lovely to see you again."

"Likewise," he nervously replied.

"I have one question, a rather small one really, for you."

"Er, alright, what is it?"

"If you've been here, in Diagon Alley, for however long," her mood changed, "then why, _why_ in the bloody hell didn't you tell anyone?"

"Now, that's not fair. I told people."

"Name one."

"Louis."

"Who on earth is Louis?"

"The bloke that lives in the flat next to mine."

"I didn't mean someone from this new place your living. I meant us, your friends."

"But Louis is my friend."

"Really? I don't recall a Louis from Hogwarts."

"Louis is much older than us. He's thirty."

"Still! Why didn't you apparate by Mum and Dad's? Mum's been a fright the past year, fretting over you. I thought you'd run off, like Hermione," she paused momentarily, "with Hermione."

An understanding dawned to Harry. "You thought I ran off with Hermione?"

"I thought that since Ron died, you two turned to each other for comfort, and er, things happened." Ginny looked down.

"Hermione's like a sister to me."

"Oh." She paused, "You didn't answer my question. Why didn't you tell us if you could tell this Louis chap? Why didn't you apparate by Mum and Dad's?"

Harry gulped, "Because I knew if you all knew I was here, you would come looking for me."

"And the problem in that would be?" trailed off Ginny.

"I didn't want to have to," Harry looked down, tears welling up slowly in his eyes, "to face up to it. Ginny, I couldn't do it."

"Face up to what exactly? Ron's death? Harry, nobody—"

"Don't even say it, Gin. I don't care how much you or Fred or anyone insists upon it. His death _was_ my fault."

"Harry, stop being so bloody noble. You can't help that the curse hit Ron."

"That curse was meant for me," he growled. Ginny sighed and closed her eyes. "If he hadn't come with me—I insisted that Hermione and he shouldn't, but they wouldn't listen—than he would be here."

Ginny tearfully insisted, "You don't know that."

A moment of silence passed as the pair avoided each other's eyes. Finally, Ginny looked up into Harry's eyes, "I can understand why you didn't contact Mum and Dad. But what about me?" her voice softened, "why didn't you send me an owl?"

Harry looked down again, eyes closed, "I-I couldn't. Facing up to you would've been even harder than your parents."

"How?"

"Being with the one you love when you're the reason for her brother's death isn't exactly an easy thing."

"I don't care about easy. How do you think I felt after that battle? My brother dead and the man I love who happened to survive doesn't bother to contact me? He simply disappears from the Wizarding World?"

"Er…."

"You promised me, Harry, you promised."

"Sometimes an occasion arises that gives one a good cause to break his promise."

"Well, an occasion such as it was should have been more of a reason to keep such a promise." Ginny paused. "Life is short. It's precious. We should love all we can."

She looked fiercely into Harry's eyes. Unblinkingly, Harry whispered, "Maybe you're right."

"Maybe?"

"Ok, you _are_ right."

"Does this mean…" she trailed off.

He ventured cautiously, "Will you accompany me to dinner tomorrow evening?"

"I'd love to."

"Brilliant. Pick you up at 7:00?"

"It's a date," she turned to leave.

"Hang on a moment," Harry ran after her, "where do you live?"

Ginny laughed and gave him her address. She left Harry in better spirits than he'd been in for ages.

That night when Harry went to bed, he did indeed dream of her again. But this night, the dreams weren't haunting.


	5. Chapter 5: Ignorance

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling is lucky enough to own the rights to Harry Potter. Coldplay owns the rights to the lyrics appearing at the beginning of this chapter.

_Chapter Five: Ignorance_

* * *

_Come on in  
I've gotta tell you what a state I'm in  
I've gotta tell you in my loudest tones  
That I started looking for a warning sign_

* * *

Harry stood in front of a large silver framed mirror and stared disdainfully at his own dismal features. He dubiously gazed at his permanently unruly hair. He examined his less-than-perfect smile. He adjusted his glasses repeatedly. Despite his efforts, his appearance remained undesirable.

After more adjustments and seemingly little improvement, Harry stood in his best black casual robes and glanced at the clock. To his displeasure it read 6:52 p.m.

"Bloody hell," groaned Harry.

With a simple flick of the wand and a barely audible crack, Harry Disapparated. He appeared mere seconds later outside of flat 3B of 182 Winchester Avenue, London.

Harry cleared his throat, made one last desperate attempt to flatten his hair, and rang the doorbell.

"Who is it?" rang out a high-pitched voice from within the flat.

"It's me. Harry," he nervously replied.

"Come on in, it's open," again called the voice.

Harry walked in. He glanced around the flat in amazement. So much of it was clearly magic. Objects floated in midair. Pictures winked. Ginny even had a duplicate of the infamous Weasley clock. Harry wondered how on earth Ginny managed not to get evicted.

"Just a few more moments, Harry. Make yourself comfortable."

"Right."

Harry sat down on the squishy orange sofa that he suspected to be secondhand. It rather reminded Harry of Ron and his Chudley Cannons orange bedroom at The Burrow. He chuckled a moment. Smiling, moving pictures placed on the wall above the quaint brick fireplace caught his attention.

On the far left, Bill and Fleur were smiling and laughing joyfully, their eyes constantly flickering to the minuscule bundle held in Fleur's arms. Harry suspected it to be their child. Next to them were Charlie and a beautiful Asian girl; blimey it was Cho Chang! _Never would've suspected that pair. _In the middle were Percy and Penelope. Both were bespectacled and grinning in a most nerdy way. Next to them were Fred and George making amusing faces and pulling pranks on one another. Perched happily next to the troublemakers, were, _blimey_, Ron and Hermione. They were smiling and waving. Occasionally, they would look at one another and blush. _That must've been taken at Bill and Fleur's wedding…the day they finally began dating._ Centered below the row of pictures, was an enormous picture of the entire Weasley family, plus significant others, minus Ron and Hermione. Harry was pondering why Ginny's picture wasn't among them, when he noticed something engraved under Ron's picture. He walked over to it to get a better look.

It said: _Ron Weasley. March 1, 1980-August 19, 1998. We will never forget._

"Admiring the pictures Harry?" a voice from behind startled Harry. "I look goofy in that damn family portrait."

Harry turned around to face Ginny.

"You don't look goofy," protested Harry. "You look adorable." He paused. "And if humanly possibly, you look even more beautiful this evening."

"Thank you," blushed Ginny. "You look rather dashing yourself."

"Thanks. Shall we be going?"

"Yes, we shall," she giggled.

Harry held out his arm for the redhead as she grinned. She eagerly linked her arm with his, and they Disapparated.

Moments later, the pair appeared in _Conjured Magic_. A house elf dressed in a charming little set of black dress robes bowed before them. "Mr. Potter, Ms. Weasley. An honor 'tis to meet you."

"Er, thanks," acknowledged Harry.

"Please follow Inky to your table, sir."

Almost as though the house elf in black dress robes conjured him, a second elf in blood red dress robes appeared.

"Inky at your service, sir and madam," bowed the house elf, "please, follow me."

With a small swish of robes, Inky turned and strode off into the restaurant. Harry and Ginny followed closely behind.

After passing several tables, some filled, some vacant, Inky stopped. He pulled out a chair for both Ginny and Harry. After handing the pair elaborately decorated menus with gold writing, Inky disappeared. Ginny immediately picked up the top menu and poured over it as Harry stared around the room.

Several crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Other couples exchanged looks and laughed merrily. Roses were perched beautifully in vases at each and every table, next to the flickering candles.

Turning his attention back to Ginny, he noticed the flames of the candle dancing in her eyes as she still studied the menu.

"Have you decided yet?" politely asked Harry.

"No, everything is so," she let out an exasperated sigh, "expensive."

"Ginny, don't worry about the prices. I can afford it, honestly. I want you to order anything you want."

"Are you sure?" peered Ginny over the menu.

"Yes," he firmly said. "In the meantime, I'll order us some drinks."

He looked at the menu. Under drinks there was a large assortment to choose from. Butterbeer, malt wine, mulled mead, gillywater, and Ogden's Old Firewhiskey.

"Gin?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"What would you prefer to drink?"

"I'd have to say butterbeer. I don't like alcohol," Ginny said, pointedly, as she chanced a look at Harry.

"Well, butterbeer it is then," said Harry, forcing a smile.

Two foaming mugs of butterbeer appeared before each of them. Laughing nervously, Harry picked up his and took a long drink.

Ginny put down her menu, closed her eyes, gathered her courage, opened them again, "If you don't mind my asking, why on earth did you decide to open a pub?"

Harry's nervous grin immediately turned into a frown. "Er, do you really want to know?"

"'Fraid I do."

"Well, after the Last Battle, I, well, I didn't exactly handle Ron's death well. I managed to stay away from the booze for a few days, but when Hermione left it was as though I had lost both my best friends. I went into _The Three Broomsticks_ one evening, and I ordered a Firewhiskey. Well, one became two, and two three, and so on, until I was so smashed I couldn't walk. The next night I came back, and the night after that as well. Though, after a bit, people began to notice I was frequenting the pub quite a bit."

Ginny nodded, concerned.

"I began to order Firewhiskey by the crates. I did this for about three months. Then on that last night, I ran low. I had one bottle left on a Friday night, and they only deliver on weekdays. I couldn't risk going to _The Three Broomsticks_ or _The Hog's Head_ even, so I went out to a Muggle pub. I bought some of what Muggles call hard liquor. It was a bit too, er, strong for me. Already a bit smashed, and not wanting to waste all of the, as I thought of it, precious alcohol, I began to mix them together."

Ginny looked appalled.

"After several tries, I found a mix that tasted oddly good. Before I was finished with the bottle I passed out. The next morning when I awoke, I surprisingly recalled how I made the mix. For some reason the name Fireball stuck in my head, and that's what I called it."

Ginny looked puzzled now, "And this addiction to alcohol made you want to buy a pub?"

"Well, no, not really. After Fireball, I got sober. I started thinking about my life and how I had seemingly wasted it. Actually, it was the thought of Fred and George that made me want to buy the pub."

"I'll kill them," menacingly threatened the angry redhead.

"No, don't! Honest, you should almost thank them—"

"Thank them? THANK THEM? Are you mad? Seriously, have you gone stark raving nutters?"

"I didn't go nutters then, nor am I nutters now. It was the obsession with getting the pub in order, and cleaning it, and everything that made me stop drinking. I haven't touched the stuff in three months now."

A slow smile formed on Ginny's face, "And you don't plan on it again, do you? Because if you did…I just can't handle people who waste their lives getting smashed."

"No, I never want to drink again. As soon as I start, I relapse. It's as though I can't get enough of it once I start."

"No, I'm better off with good old butterbeer," said Harry as he raised his half-empty mug to Ginny and then drained the lot. Seconds later the mug was filled again. "Ah, I love house-elves. Bloody brilliant creatures if you ask me."

Again, Ginny giggled, "You're beginning to sound like Hermione."

"Ah, yes," laughed Harry. "Fourth year." A faraway look entered Harry's eyes.

"Harry," interrupted Ginny, "are you ready to order? Only, it's been quite some time since I've eaten, and the Beef Wellington is rather tempting me."

Harry looked up, a bit dazed, "What? Oh, yeah, o' course. I'll have whatever you're having."

Ginny skeptically raised an eyebrow for a fraction of a second, then turned her attention to the menu, "Two Beef Wellingtons."

* * *

"And _then _Damian said, 'That's not a cat! It's an orange!'"

A merry laugh rang out from Ginny's thin mouth, "Haha, an orange! Ha!"

The moment of laughter passed. He carefully studied his fork, Ginny's constant gaze never leaving him.

"So," Ginny broke the silence, "does this dinner mean…?"

"That we're back together? I'm sorry, Gin. I love you." He gulped. "But I can't be with you."

"Why the ruddy hell not?"

"It's my fault you no longer have six brothers. It's my fault your family lost Ron. I can't be with you and around your family, when it's completely my fault."

"Oh, hush up a moment Harry. I don't give a damn if you think it's entirely your fault, because it's not. You can't change the past Harry. You shouldn't give up your, and my, chance for happiness because you refuse to stop dwelling on the past."

She blazingly stared into his eyes, breathing heavily.

With that one look, he knew what he wanted.

* * *


End file.
